John asked the head of the Department of Education to stay behind.
The International Confederation of Wizards had two major subordinate organisations.
The first was the Department of Education, responsible for registering and reviewing wizarding schools.
The second was the Quidditch Committee, which handled all Quidditch-related affairs, including organising the Quidditch World Cup.
The head of the Department of Education was named Roger Spottiswoode.
He was a tall, thin old man with curly white hair, dressed in purple velvet robes.
"Lord Wick."
Roger Spottiswoode shook John's hand.
"Please, sit."
This meeting was being held in Britain. Everyone else had already left, leaving only the two of them in the council chamber.
Roger remained calm. He did not seem afraid of the man before him, perhaps because he had once had dealings with the First King.
"Mr. Spottiswoode, I'd like you to do me a favour." John interlaced his fingers beneath his chin, his posture relaxed. "I'd like you to contact ten wizarding schools for me."
Why ten?
Because Mahoutokoro had been destroyed by John.
Roger's first reaction was to refuse.
It was not a simple matter, especially during the beginning of the school year.
"There's no need to refuse so quickly." John's eyes seemed capable of seeing straight through people. He smiled faintly. "I'm not trying to interfere with the Department of Education. I simply want to discuss an issue concerning wizarding schools."
"An issue concerning wizarding schools?" Roger asked in a low voice. "Forgive me, but as far as I know, there are currently no major problems with the schools, except..."
Except Mahoutokoro.
Roger swallowed the rest of the sentence.
He had heard about the deeds of this new superior.
In truth, the matter involving Mahoutokoro counted as a major failure on the part of the Department of Education itself.
As the organisation responsible for wizarding schools across the world, they had failed to discover Headmaster Shigematsu's sinister ambitions in time.
If John wanted to pursue responsibility, Roger would have no grounds for complaint even if he were stripped of his position.
"No, no." John shook his head. "Don't you think communication between wizarding schools in different countries is a serious issue?"
"The three European wizarding schools have the Triwizard Tournament to encourage exchange, but aside from that, there is almost no meaningful interaction between schools."
A sharp gleam flashed through John's eyes as he said firmly, "Remaining isolated only leads to stagnation. Magic isn't something that develops behind closed doors. There shouldn't be barriers between schools."
"That makes sense." Roger's expression changed slightly.
Just as John had said, the ten wizarding schools had almost no interaction with one another.
The three European schools were somewhat better off, at least because they had the Triwizard Tournament.
Even then, the tournament itself had been suspended for nearly a century before finally being revived.
The only connection between the various wizarding schools was that they were all registered under the Department of Education of the International Confederation of Wizards.
"Besides, exchanges between schools can broaden students' horizons. To be honest, Hogwarts itself once had serious problems with its education."
John dragged Dumbledore into the discussion without hesitation.
"For a certain period, Hogwarts' teaching of its most important subject, Defence Against the Dark Arts, was like a pile of scraps haphazardly stitched together."
"A new professor every year. Because of the curse, powerful wizards were unwilling to take the position, while mediocre wizards taught whatever they pleased."
By this point, a bead of cold sweat had already formed on Roger's forehead.
John said meaningfully, "I've always believed that the Department of Education has a responsibility to oversee the educational standards of every school."
"Or did you turn a blind eye because you didn't want to offend a certain wizard?"
A death sentence.
Roger suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable in his seat.
Yes, the Department of Education was responsible for the registration and administration of wizarding schools across the world.
But for the most part, they had allowed the schools to develop independently.
Some situations, however, should have been exceptions.
Hogwarts, for example.
One disposable professor after another, year after year. The prestigious foremost wizarding school in Europe had even reached a point where some of its graduates could not cast a Shield Charm.
That was one of the most important spells a wizard could learn, the foundation of magical defence.
And yet, despite such a situation, the Department of Education had never intervened.
If John wanted to, he could remove Roger from his position over this matter alone.
But he did not.
"I heard you were quite close to that man." John picked up the quill on the table and idly played with it. "You've exchanged quite a few letters recently, haven't you?"
"No..." Roger had barely spoken before he was interrupted.
John pressed the tip of the quill against the wooden table.
"I don't mind that."
He released his hand.
The quill remained standing upright, its nib embedded in the tabletop.
"I only hope you understand where you stand."
"Some people already belong to the past. For years, the Department of Education neglected its responsibility to oversee the various wizarding schools, allowing problems to develop within them. We need to correct those problems now."
John rose and walked toward the exit.
As he passed Roger, he stopped.
"Magical education is the cradle of wizardkind. You should understand that this kind of authority brings more than prestige. It also brings responsibility."
He reached out and patted Roger, who had gone completely stiff, on the shoulder.
John walked out through the door, his voice drifting back into the room.
"I hope you'll establish contact with the schools as soon as possible."
Roger remained seated for a long time.
His back was already soaked with cold sweat.
With trembling hands, he removed his glasses and rubbed his face hard with both palms.
Only then did some of the chill leave him.
He tried to stand, bracing both hands against the table. It took several attempts before he finally managed to get to his feet.
After putting his glasses back on, he looked at the quill embedded in the tabletop.
Roger walked over and grabbed the quill, trying to pull it free.
But it was embedded too deeply.
He took a deep breath and yanked it out, stumbling several steps backward before managing to steady himself.
"Is there anything I can help you with?"
Reg Cattermole from the Magical Maintenance Department asked.
"Yes. Oh, no, thank you. I'm fine."
Roger stuffed the quill into his pocket, nodded to Reg, and left.
Reg scratched his head.
Not understanding what had happened, he shrugged and walked into the council chamber, drawing his wand and pointing it inside.
The tables and chairs immediately hopped aside, while the table itself shrank as though it were being compressed.
The carpet flew into the air, and several wooden rods zipped over and began beating it.
Dust burst out from inside, choking the air.
Reg lifted his wand.
The clear weather above suddenly changed to rain.
Rainwater fell across the floor, while cloths swept away the dust.
"I really love this cleaning system," Reg said with satisfaction.
...
John returned to Silverhand Manor.
Tommy approached with a smile on his face.
"My Lord, they're here."
"Oh?"
John glanced toward the two short, dwarf-like figures being stopped outside the manor.
"No rush."
John walked over to the sofa and sat down.
The teapot beside him poured warm tea into a cup.
"Tell me how things went today."
He lifted the cup and gestured for Tommy to continue.
Tommy could barely contain his smile.
"More than eighty percent of wizards across the country have gone to Silverhand to register for Magic Cards. Recently, ten werewolves from abroad have also come to register. All of them arrived from other countries."
"Mr. Chudai and Sophie investigated them and confirmed that none had a history of harming people. They were approved to enter the werewolf community."
"Under the influence of the Delacour family, the French wizarding community has begun transferring its money into Magic Cards for storage."
"Gringotts is shrinking all over the world. In some places, they can't even afford to pay their troll guards."
Tommy reported each development one after another.
A faint smile appeared on John's lips.
"The more people register, the less room the Acolytes have to hide."
John's gaze deepened.
"The more wizards who register, the more their living space will be squeezed."
So what if they were Acolytes?
They still needed to eat.
The Magic Card required real-name registration, which meant John was indirectly gaining control over information throughout the wizarding world.
It was an intelligence network covering the entire globe.
No disturbance, however small, could escape John's eyes.
He glanced toward the figures still jumping around outside.
"Bring them in."
Tommy's smile did not fade as he walked outside.
At the edge of the manor grounds, he looked toward the two greasy-skinned goblins.
"Shelby, I need to see John Wick. Let me in!"
The one speaking was Lannis, a manager at Gringotts.
A dignified Gringotts manager like him had actually been stopped by several werewolf guards today.
Tommy merely gave him a casual glance, but his words carried a dangerous edge.
"You said... who do you want to see?"
"Of course, I want to see... Lord Wick."
Lannis was about to speak when Griphook tugged at him, making him realise his mistake.
He noticed the hostility in the eyes of several werewolf guards.
This was the Second King's territory.
Showing him disrespect here was practically asking to die.
"Good."
Tommy waved a hand, signalling for the guards to step aside, then said calmly, "I wouldn't want my Lord to blame me for letting some idiots inside."
Lannis wanted to lose his temper, but Griphook had enough sense to hold him back.
Tommy led the two goblins into Silverhand Manor.
"Lord Wi... Lord Wick, I am Lannis, a manager of Gringotts."
As soon as he entered, Lannis's greedy gaze swept across the magnificent Silverhand Manor.
John was flipping through a book.
Hearing him speak, John merely raised one finger.
Griphook immediately understood what he meant and hurriedly covered Lannis's mouth.
And so, the two goblins stood there watching John quietly read.
The sound of turning pages echoed through the silent sitting room.
Lannis tried to speak several times, but each time Griphook stopped him.
Only when John reached the final page and closed the book did he finally lift his gaze toward the two goblins.
"If the weak come seeking help from the strong, then they should put aside their arrogance."
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